


Cast By The Light

by Ripplestitchskein



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Romance, Season 3, shadow fic, shadow!killian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 05:17:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10984140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ripplestitchskein/pseuds/Ripplestitchskein
Summary: After Killian sacrifices himself to obtain the Black Fairy's wand and stop Pan's oncoming curse it is up to Emma to reunite the pirate with his shadow.  A Shadow!Killian fic.





	Cast By The Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AcrobatElle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcrobatElle/gifts).



> Thank you to Liz ( @caprelloidea) for the amazing beta. I'm very excited about this little story. A gift I started a long time ago for a lovely lady @acrobat-elle whom I adore. I'm happy I'm actually able to finally give it to you.

_____

 

“I'll draw it.”

 The words had left his mouth without a thought, and he ignored the looks of surprise all around, focused instead on the specter above. Hook hoped they wouldn't argue the point. Though, he didn't harbor any delusions the gathered group cared enough about his well being to even attempt such a thing. They knew they needed that blasted wand, and fast. They also knew they were running out of time.

The demon shadow gave a shriek, a threat, a promise, a laughing challenge all rolled up into a terrible cry that skittered down his spine. There was a curse hanging over their heads and only one weapon that could stop it and it was that thought that emboldened him. It wasn’t even a choice really, there was no one else. The Prince had his family, Bae reconnecting with his boy, perhaps more if Emma wished it, and Tink the promise of regaining her wings, of finally making a life for herself. What did he have, really? A pirate ship in a small town of a realm he didn't know, and several barrels of rum. No purpose, no course set. He had always been quite adept at diversions at least.

Hook sucked in a fortifying breath, and stepped forward.

“You sure you want to do this?” Tink hissed, her voice soft, hand resting gently on his arm, pulling him back into the pew. She wasn’t quite stopping him, and for that he was grateful, but her eyes flickered across his face uncertainly.

“If it’s the only way to prevent this bloody curse from obliterating us all, then it's a risk I'm willing to take,” he snapped, and they ducked as one when the specter swooped again.

“I thought you'd only risk your life for love or revenge,” Tink pointed out, a last ditch attempt to talk some sense into him, to make him reconsider. He appreciated it, truly, it was almost like having a friend, but instead he flashed her a smirk, arranging his coat. Ready for battle.

 “One other important thing—me,” and with a wink, he slid out of the pew.

 It was a lie of course, another kind of diversion, the fairy’s words hitting too close to home. Emma’s face, her son’s face, the curse bearing down on all of them, those were the only things he could think about as he strutted to the front of the chapel, confidence he didn't feel in his step.

 “Hey!” Hook shouted, straining to be heard over the yowling wind, over the demon’s cries. It dived, and he ducked, rolling away just in time. Hook grinned.

 “That the best you got?” He taunted.

 It was a mistake, a slip in his footing, a simple miscalculation, and the shadow ducked again, diving right for him. He just didn't move quite fast enough. Somewhere behind him Tink screamed, David and Baelfire yelled a warning, but it was too late.

 The world was suddenly searing pain and screaming, his screaming, his flesh stretched and pulled, fire burning him from within, ripping and tearing him apart. Hook had known pain before, the strain of grief, long nights of brutal torture, a belly crying out in hunger, but this was all of that and more. He thought of Emma’s face, the curse tearing her away from the family she loved, the town twisted and broken.

And then there was nothing.

____

The day was a blur of terror and fear, an ever present surreal sense of just going through the motions. Heroic muscle memory taking over where thought should be. Emma was thankful for it, her son’s life hanging in the balance, his body stolen, her family threatened. One thing at a time, one foot in front of the other. She didn't have to think if she just _did._

 Emma turned to the group. Belle looked stricken, Regina concerned, and Rumple was frowning behind them, the curse pressing closer, oppressive and heavy, magic crackling in the air. They were running out of time. Emma turned to ask Regina what they should do, what the next step should be and choked, a sharp stinging pain lighting up along her back, a hollow ache tearing through her chest. Emma gasped, pressing a hand to her heart as she stumbled a bit on the street. Something was wrong.

 A lot was wrong actually. The day had been nothing _but_ wrong. One horrible thing after another. Panic and screaming, the town crumbling before their very eyes. She shook off the feeling, blaming it on anxiety, on fear, on the uncertainty of their future. It had been that kind of day after all.

As quickly as it had come, the pain receded, maybe just a tweaked muscle, a pinched nerve, an oncoming anxiety attack. She clutched her son closer, still feeling like something wasn't quite right, but unable to pin down the feeling with all the chaos around them.

They had gotten Henry back, his small body, his _real body,_ pressed to her side, the rescued scroll in Regina’s hands, and Pan, trapped forever in a little box thanks to Gold’s quick thinking and the demon child’s own hubris. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, she repeated in her head. Slay the monsters, save the day, easy as that.

There was just one pressing problem. One giant pressing problem.

“We got it!” Tink was running towards them down the main road, something black and shining clutched triumphantly in her hand, and Emma sighed in relief. The fairy hesitated reaching her, her eyes skating over Emma’s face. She looked anguished and sad, and the sense of _wrong_ intensified, but there was no time to question why.

“Thank god,” Emma sagged, casting a glance over her shoulder at the swiftly rising emerald smoke miles in the distance. Pan’s curse was coming, and they were out of time.

 “Regina can you do it?” She asked. The woman hesitated, looking unsure as the fairy pressed the wand into her hand. “Regina!”

Regina looked over at her sharply.

 “I don't know if I'm strong enough,” she confessed. “This curse is more powerful than anything I've worked before.”

Gold’s voice broke through the woman’s self doubt, cold and businesslike, no hint of emotion on his face. He had just condemned his father to an eternity in a glorified Rubix Cube but he looked as pragmatic and unshakeable as ever.

“I believe you’re right dear. Your magic won't be enough to stop this curse. Not nearly enough,” the group sank in defeat, as one, Emma clutching tighter onto Henry’s shoulders.

 “But mine will,” Gold finished solemnly.

He stepped forward. “This is my father’s doing, the price is mine to pay.”

“But-” Regina went to argue but the man had already taken the wand, his hand trembling, the only sign he wasn't as stoic as he appeared. Whether he shook from fear or power Emma didn't know.

“What’s the price?” Emma asked.

“I think you’re about to find out Miss Swan,” his voice was soft, resigned. Emma wanted to argue with him, convince him they could find another way, but he was already stepping away, and there was no time. They had no other plan.

“I love you Belle,” he said quietly to the already crying woman. Belle had been standing solid and silent the entire time, quiet tears tracking down her face. She broke completely then, collapsing to her knees on the pavement, reaching out for his legs. He kneeled, brushing her hair from her face, gently, reverently, and Emma felt her eyes burn watching them as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Tell my boy I loved him. Tell him...I'm so happy we found each other again. I just wanted to make him proud.”

Emma hugged Henry closer to her side, pressing his face into her coat, glancing away. This was too intimate, too raw to watch, and she swallowed back tears of her own. She was the Savior, she should have been able to stop this. There had to be another way, but damned if she could think of one. Instead she could only watch helplessly, as someone else made the needed sacrifice, as someone else paid the price.

The man known as Rumplestiltskin rose, and raised a wand that had once belonged to the darkest fairy, imbued with the darkest magic, and wielded it to bring down the darkest curse. The sky was all light then, electricity and power surging forward. Emma closed her eyes against it.

And then there was nothing.

_____

Emma wanted to cheer, to let out a yell of triumph when the sky cleared, the oppressive weight of dark magic drawing back, making it easier to breathe. But Belle was sobbing on the street, Gold was gone, Henry was crying into her side, and something still felt _off_. There was nothing to celebrate.

“Emma,” Tink stepped forward. She clutched her hands in front of her, wringing her fingers together. Her eyes were rimmed in red.

“We have to tell the others-” Emma said, shaking off the feeling that something unspoken was wrong. It was easier to snap into Savior mode than to process that her son had just seconds ago lost his grandfather, that her friend had lost a love, her ex a father, the sense that she had lost _something_. “-that the curse is gone. Do a damage assessment.”

She looked over at Regina who smiled sadly, shaken, clutching Henry’s hand in her own. Her eyes barely left the spot where Gold had been to flicker to Emma’s.

“I can call a town meeting,” the woman said, snapping into Mayor mode just as easily, perhaps also grateful for the distraction. “Make sure everyone is okay and accounted for.”

“That’s a good start, I'm sure there are some injuries from the panic. We can set up a triage in the town hall, give the hospital some relief,” Emma nodded to herself at the plan.

“Emma,” Tink tried again, breaking through the swirling thoughts of property damage claims and needed first responders. Her face had the same anguished look as before, guilt and shame and sorrow. Cold dread curled around Emma’s heart.

“What? What’s happened?”

“Hook,” was the only sound the fairy made before she too collapsed into tears.

____

The brisk jog back to the convent passed in a blur, a static white noise filling her brain where just moments before a jumble of lists and tasks had been, necessary jobs to keep the town safe, the people secure. Now it was one name, an endless litany that repeated in her mind until it lost all meaning.

_Hook. Hook. Hook._

The chapel itself was nearly empty, ominous in its silence, the dimming sun glowing through the stained glass of the windows.

There was a body on the floor, familiar leather clad legs stretched into the aisle between the pews, and Neal hovering over him, her father looking defeated standing just beyond. Her heart clenched.

“Come on buddy. Hook. Hook wake up,” Neal shook his arm. “Killian. Wake up man, come on.”

“Is he-?” Emma swallowed, her voice was barely a whisper but it echoed in the room.

It felt like her throat was completely closing in, something clawing at her insides as she watched Neal shake him again and again with no response. He had obviously been at it for some time, tears already dried in pearlescent streaks on his face, his movements desperate and weak rather than purposeful. 

Emma might not have been able to glean the exact extent of the two men’s relationship before, just bits and pieces here and there, but the look of pure anguish in Neal’s expression told her all she needed to know. It was one of devastation and disbelief, of pure abject loss. He didn't even know about his father yet, and her heart stuttered.

She felt all those same things echo through her one by one as she looked across the nave at the body of the man who just days before, had pressed his lips to hers with so much passion it had buckled her knees and left her wanting, a man who just days before, had reluctantly confessed his deepest secret, his feelings for _her,_ to save someone whom he considered a rival. A man who had been a spark of possibility, of _something._

_When I win your heart, Emma._

She looked to her father, wanting him to deny the truth before them, but sad eyes filled with regret, the slight shake of his head, told her all she needed to know.

“He’s dead, Emma.”

____

It was unfair Emma thought, feeling guilt prickle at her scalp as she took in the fairy across from her. The fairy who had, hours ago, been dead as well, now looking at her with helpless sympathy and unwanted compassion as if nothing had happened. Why should this woman escape the shadow’s fate and not the others?

“There has to be something you can do for him,” Emma tried again, her eyes barely glancing his way. She couldn't look at him, not yet, couldn't see him lying there lifeless and growing cold. Couldn't look at his face, still and calm, no heated looks or flirtatious innuendo, just an empty shell, devoid of warmth and life. She couldn't look at him.

“I wish there was,” Blue said softly. “But a shadow ripped from a being unwillingly is the same as having the soul removed. It cannot be survived.”

“Yet here _you_ _are_ explaining it to me,” Emma snapped bitterly. The guilt prickled again. Thankfully Blue didn't take offense.

“I am a magical creature, and as such, part of my soul belongs to the light. When the shadow was destroyed it allowed the rest of me to return,” the explanation was hollow, meaningless, and Emma resented it more than if the fairy had given none at all.

“Why wouldn't Hook’s return too?” Emma couldn't help the rise of her voice. “It was just a few minutes from what Tink said, it couldn't have gone far.”

“Without a tether it would have no way to know where to come back to,” Blue reached forward, wanting to comfort her, to console her but Emma jerked backwards, hugging her arms to her chest.

“Then we just need to find it right? Bring it back to his-” she wouldn't say body. She wouldn't. “To Killian. Reattach them.”

“I'm afraid it's not that simple,” Blue said softly.

“Of course it isn't,” Emma glared. She knew it wasn't the woman’s fault, that she should be glad the fairy lived, and she was, but it wasn't _fair._

“Emma,” her father stepped forward, his hand warm and sympathetic on her shoulder. She shrugged it off.

“Get Regina,” she said dully.

“Blue is right-” David tried again.

“Get. Regina.”

She saw him sag in defeat from the corner of her eye and nod, making his way out of the chapel to find the sorceress. Neal had already left, gone to deal with the aftermath of his father’s death, console his father’s girlfriend, and she felt guilt for that too. Telling him had been one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. Hook was not the only casualty this day after all, and she should probably be there in some capacity, but she couldn't just leave him, not alone, with only Blue and a sobbing Tink to watch over him. He didn't belong here in this church, he belonged with his things, he belonged in his home.

Emma hugged herself tighter, focusing on the different colored hues of the stained glass.

“He did it for you,” Tink said, her voice raw from tears. Emma briefly wondered at their relationship, at the level of grief the fairy was displaying when she in contrast could only feel her eyes burn. A frisson of the same inappropriate jealousy from before rose in her chest. Were they lovers? More than that? She pushed it down, locking it away, it didn't matter now, and she barely registered the woman’s words for a moment.

“What? I wasn't even here?” She swallowed, knowing it was true despite that. He would have, of course he would have. The idiot.

“He told me once, that he would only risk his life for love or revenge,” Tink said softly. “And this wasn't revenge.” Tink breathed deeply. “I thought you should know.”

“It wasn't... _that_ either,” Emma said, wanting to scream, to cry. It wasn't, she told herself. A small voice whispered cruelly in her mind.

_And now it never will be._

____

Regina had only raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow at her stilted order to “Take us to his ship. He needs to be on his ship.” She enveloped the group in a cloud of purple smoke without argument, and a wave of her hand.

Her father had come back with her mother and Regina in tow, their faces twisted in remorse and sympathy. Even Regina looked unsettled at the sight of the man lying on the floor. The man Emma still hadn't been able to look at, her eyes sliding past automatically, never able to take in more than the impression of leather and awkwardly splayed limbs.

Neal was left behind to grieve, to help Belle, Henry to sleep off the effects of the day. Granny had agreed to keep watch over him in the loft, her crossbow at the ready.

It was easier without them.

Henry didn't know Hook well, but he had lost a grandfather today, had undergone a horrible experience. Introducing him to more death, however disconnected, was not on the agenda.

And Neal...Neal had lost the only two men who had ever shown him some sort of paternal affection. Flawed as those men were, he had loved them. No one could look like he had, staring down at Hook’s body, and not harbor some measure of love, seeing the results of one sacrifice while another took place across town. He had lost more than anyone.

_He told me once, that he would only risk his life for love or revenge._

Emma took in a shuddering breath, pushing the fairy’s voice away. She wanted to embrace the anger, the numbness, that had settled thick and heavy on her shoulders, not ache for things that might never be. She had awoken the previous morning with a choice, a sort of date with a man who had left her behind or an uncertain _something_ with another who had come back.

She hadn't wanted the decision to be made for her. Not like this. She wasn't going to settle for that.

The cabin was silent save for the gentle lapping water against the hull, the creaks and groans of a docked vessel, and the uncomfortable breathing of people unsure of the next step. Her next step. She was calling the shots here. Emma sucked a steadying breath into her lungs, the air full of his scent, and turned.

She was startled to see that Regina had gone ahead and laid him on the small bed, hand and hook crossed over his stomach, relaxed in repose, his chest still and silent, no rhythmic rise and fall. It was the only thing that told her he wasn't just asleep, his face slack, beautiful even, long lashes fanning over pale cheeks. Emma felt a sob forming in her chest, her eyes stinging.

“Emma,” her mother whispered, stepping forward out of the protection of her father’s arms. “I'm so sorry.”

“For what?” Her eyes snapped up.

“I know you-” the woman swallowed, struggling. “Cared for him?”

The fact that her own mother was uncertain, was unsure, glanced across her like a physical blow. That she, herself, couldn't sort out the tangle of feelings, of emotions made it even worse. She did care for him, that wasn't a question, how much was the question. And now she might never have the chance to sort through it, untie the knots, sift through the rubble.

“The spell you used on Henry-” Emma ignored her mother, turning instead to Regina. The woman looked uncomfortable, her face a marble slab, but her eyes were soft with something, and Emma knew without asking that she would help. “-in Neverland, the stasis spell, can you use it on him?”

Regina only nodded, recognizing her intent immediately, and turned back to...his body.

“Without the magic of the island interfering this one will hold indefinitely,” she said. “That will give us some time.”

It was a quiet reassurance, a sign of solidarity. Even if their relationship wasn't the best Emma felt her heart warm, and gave her a small smile in thanks. Regina raised her hands, a soft white light spreading down his form, making him glow, an ephemeral sheen settling over his skin. It reminded Emma of insects trapped in amber, mementos in resin.

“Some time for what? What are you going to do?” Mary Margaret tried again. “I know it's hard, but Blue is right-”

“We’re going to get him back,” Emma interrupted. “We’ll find his shadow and find a way to bring him back.”

“That might not even be possible, he doesn't have magic and your father told me what Blue said-”

The anger, Emma found, was much easier to deal with than whatever else was currently churning in her stomach, and she embraced it, whirling.

“Why is it that whenever there's time for a hope speech it's only for the ones you deem _worthy?”_

Mary Margaret stepped back, hurt flashing across her face. David looked stricken, his eyes darting over to Hook and back to his wife. Emma didn't want to hear excuses, didn't want to listen to their defenses. She was fury and fire and it wasn't _fair_.

“He saved your husband’s _life_. He offered his ship to us. He helped save Henry. He told us about Neal. We never would have even _gotten_ to Neverland without him. We wouldn't have _survived_ in that place without him. You _owe_ him to try.” She hissed. “We all owe him to try.”

“Okay,” Mary Margaret said shakily. Her hand reached out, resting on Emma’s arm. Emma wanted to jerk away, her blood still raging and hot, but she didn't, letting her mother squeeze gently. “Okay, we can try. What do you need us to do?”

The tear spilled over without her knowledge, sliding down her cheek unchecked. She told them the truth.

“I don't know.”

_____

In some ways Emma liked having an unsolvable problem hanging over her head. Dastardly villains and curses had a way of making the mundane minutiae of life in their small town easier to deal with. The endless list of formerly difficult issues she had to face in the wake of Pan’s curse were almost comforting in their new simplicity.

Minor injuries were handled, repairs to buildings were scheduled, and the vagaries of day to day life went on. Even the more difficult emotional obstacles were easier to overcome when one was numb and drifting from task to task, settling into an odd sort of routine.

Her days were spent handling the normal duties required of the Sheriff in a small town. Her evenings split between her time with Henry, and figuring out how to find the shadow of a pirate with the ability to travel between realms. Deciding the details of a three way custody split was simple, the rest was decidedly not.

“No sightings,” David said, scrubbing a hand across his face as she entered the station. “Pretty sure the whole town knows by now to report anything though.”

“Thanks,” Emma gave him a small nod, trying not to let her disappointment show. It had been days now without a single sign. “Regina is trying to see if she can find a way to track it, like a locator spell for shadows or something.”

“And then what?” David asked. Emma bristled a bit at the question.

“Don't-” she started but he waved a hand.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said softly. He motioned for her to sit, rolling his chair across the aisle between the desks to join her. “I just think we need a plan for what to do with his shadow once we’ve found it, until we can figure out the next step.”

“I can talk to Neal, maybe he can make another coconut or something,” she frowned. She had been pointedly avoiding any and all discussions of Hook’s condition with her ex, giving him space, the time to grieve his father. Bringing up Hook would hurt for a variety of reasons. She didn't want to be the source of any additional pain. But David was right, even if they found his shadow, with no way to keep it close they would be back to square one while they sorted out the next part of the problem.

“I know I wasn't-” David took a breath. “-exactly supportive of this. And for that I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have even hesitated,” he looked so ashamed and so sad Emma couldn't help but reach out, grasping his hand in her own.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “He wasn't your favorite...person and I know it's a little weird trying to save someone who used to be the bad guy but I just-” David shook his head, squeezing her hand.

“You don't have to explain. I get it. And despite, well, everything, he kind of grew on me,” he gave a sad smile. “He saved my life, he helped save all of us. I just- I didn't want to give you false hope. I know you guys were getting closer on that island.”

Emma looked away, discomfort settling into her chest at the look on his face. It was the same look they all had been giving her the past few days. The brief flashes of pity, like any second she would crumble, like her and Hook were more than they had been. Hell, _she_ didn't even know what they had been. One kiss and a few romantic declarations didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things. But they didn't mean nothing either.

“This isn't-” Emma huffed, shifting. “This isn't because I had-” she stopped and corrected, “-have, whatever, _feelings_ for him or anything like that. I just don't want to... give up on him.”

David looked at her at her skeptically, and it _felt_ like a lie, but he said nothing, just squeezed her hand again.

“We won’t.”

_____

Her feet burned and ached, no doubt blistered and raw in her boots from hours of searching. But she kept moving. It was a welcome pain, a distraction from the increasingly depressing thoughts that came unbidden the longer she looked and found nothing.

Every tree, every bush, every nook and cranny that was safe to traverse in the mines, and there was _nothing._ No sign of him, no ghostly sightings, no frantic calls to the dispatch of glowing eyes in the woods, no reports of children seeing monsters in their closets. Nothing.

It hurt more than she could say. She had taken his presence by her side for granted. He had been there since he’d turned his ship around after all, an unwelcome distraction, an attractive annoyance in black leather. And she missed it. As stupid as it was, as brief as their acquaintance had been so far, she had spent _weeks_ by his side on that island, and now she felt rather...bereft.

Logically, she knew that some small part of that had to be just plain old fashioned grief. Wanting what you couldn't have. She had mused for most of the trek through the northern edge of the woods over whether she would still feel the same if he was alive and whole and just avoiding her. Would she still feel like something was missing if it was just a series of missed connections and poor timing? If he had decided to sail for other shores would she be just as sad?

The cruel little voice told her yes. Nothing else within her spoke up to argue the point. So she kept walking, past the diner, past the library, and down the wooden slats of the docks.

His room still smelled of him, still felt like him. And he was there of course, lying in the same position she had left him, hand and hook crossed, lips soft and lax. No breeze stirred the locks of his hair, no muscles shifted in sleep under leather. He was a wax statue, a man carved in marble.

“Rumplestiltskin’s gone,” she said to the empty room, her words echoing and hollow. “And you aren't even here to enjoy it.” She laughed humorlessly. “Irony is kind of a bitch, huh?”

Emma sank into the chair at the table, her feet practically singing in relief as she sagged back against it.

“I don't even know if you’d be happy about that,” she muttered. “I never got a chance to ask.”

It would be easier if he was breathing. Easier to pretend. A sleeping curse or a coma were far less final than what he was right now. Hearts still beat, lungs still drew breath, people still dreamed.

“Do you dream?” She asked suddenly. “I hope so.” And she did. She’d hate if she was the reason he didn't. If he was facing who knew how many days of nothingness, of black, because of her.

Her face was wet but she couldn't be bothered to wipe the tears away.

“I just-” she sighed. “I'm trying okay? But you have to help me out here Killian, give me some hint of where you are.”

She waited for another hour, the only sounds the ship creaking, the water of the harbor, the cries of evening gulls.

But other than that, just silence.

 

_____

“This wasn't exactly the date I had in mind,” Neal said, squinting across the water into the sun. Emma sighed, moving over on the bench to give him room to sit.

“Neal-” he waved her off, a wry smile playing across his lips.

“Kidding. My sense of humor hasn't been the best these days,” he looked sad as he took the seat beside her, and Emma could only smile at him in sympathy.

She wanted to reach out, to take his hand, but it was a delicate balancing act, wanting to provide comfort without hinting at more. She felt guilty even worrying about something as dumb as where they stood in their personal lives, not when he was mourning such a huge loss, but emotions were tricky things and she kept her hands to herself.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly after a moment, watching the ships in the water. “About your father.”

“He died a hero,” the words were choked with held back tears, and Emma pressed her lips together, squeezing her hands tighter. “I'm not giving up on him.”

Emma looked at him in surprise.

“Oh?”

“Belle and I,” he looked uncomfortable, shifting on the bench, his eyes trained on the harbor. “We’ve been looking through his shop, for a way to bring him back. If that’s even possible, I don't know.” He chuckled darkly. “His dagger is still here so surely that means something, right?”

Emma could only shrug, uncomfortable with the topic. The idea of bringing someone back from the presumably dead didn't exactly sit right with her, but then again, she was one to talk. As if reading her mind Neal chuckled again.

“I hear I'm not the only one trying to raise the dead these days,” he sat back, and draped his arm casually across the bench behind them. Emma leaned forward.

“I'm not giving up either,” Emma said softly. She swallowed, not sure if she wanted to see his face, not wanting to cause more pain on top of all he had endured. She knew what her words would mean to him. Surprisingly though, he laughed in earnest.

“Didn't think you would,” he tugged at a curl, a familiar, friendly gesture. “I guess that answers one question.”

“What question?” Emma wiggled uncomfortably at the knowing look he gave her, a flash of embarrassed heat lighting up on her neck.

“Oh come on, Emma,” he didn't seem mad, or angry, which was a small blessing at least. “I think you know.”

“Everyone seems to have their opinions,” Emma said with a resigned sigh. “But I honestly don't.”

“Not that I'm encouraging it or anything,” Neal said after a moment. “But I think in this case, actions speak louder than words.”

“Well that's...cliche,” she smiled at him. He didn't smile back, just looked at her seriously.

“Why did you call me here, Emma?”

She took in a breath.

“I really didn't want to,” she admitted. “But I need your help. We still haven't found any trace of Kil-his shadow and even if we do…”

“You don't know how to keep it,” he nodded understanding. “I can probably fashion another coconut. Keep him contained until you figure it out.”

“If we can even find him,” Emma said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice, the hopelessness. “No one has even seen a hint of anything like a shadow since he-” she cut the sentence off, unable to finish it.

“You checked the woods?” Neal asked. “Shadows like to hang out in places like that. Like the hollow.”

Emma nodded.

“I combed pretty much the whole freaking forest. Miner’s caves too,” she sighed. “Maybe he moved on, went, wherever it is shadows go.”

“Nah,” Neal waved her worst case scenario off as if it wasn't even a possibility. It helped a bit. “Shadows are called to the light, and you’re the lightest thing I know.”

He sent her a wry grin, an assurance he didn't mean more by the comment than stating a simple fact. She appreciated it. It made her feel like they could truly be friends. She reached out then, taking his hand in her own and gave it a firm squeeze.

 

"Thank you,” she said, wanting him to understand. It was gratitude and an apology in one, and he got it, squeezing her hand back.

“Sleep with your window open,” he blurted after a moment. Emma yanked her hand away.

“What?”

He smiled then, a genuine smile despite the remorse in his eyes, shaking his head.

“He might come to you,” Neal said. “If you give him a way in.”

“You think that will work?”

Neal stood, giving a stretch, his eyes on the water, and the setting sun.

“It's Killian Jones,” he gave her a pointed look. “I think you know it will.”

_____

The arched window above her bed had never been opened before, stuck fast with paint and the passage of time. It was the first real problem to what she was now considering to be a rather silly and far fetched plan. This wasn't some Disney movie or a children’s book. As twisted as their reality was, fairytale characters and curses, there was no reason why this would succeed more than her endless days of searching.

Still, she worked diligently with the flat of the knife, scraping away old paint, jamming it into the seams to pry the window away from the frame. The night air was chilly, crisp and cold on her face when she finally got it opened, and she shivered looking out at the dark and desolate town. It felt like a last ditch effort, a Hail Mary when the options had run out.

“God, it's freezing up here,” Mary Margaret said behind her. Emma jerked away, almost ramming her head on the wood as her mother cleared the final step, rubbing her hands on her arms. “What are you doing?”

“I needed some fresh air,” Emma said evasively, rolling across the bed back to the dresser. “Thought it might be nice.”

Mary Margaret smiled at her softly.

“I know what you’re doing,” she said gently, crossing the room to perch on the edge of the mattress. Emma sighed, cheeks warming.

“Neal said-” Emma huffed, embarrassed. “He said Hook might come if I left my window open so I figured it was worth a shot right? I mean I might catch the flu… but that's worth a guy’s life I think?”

She lit one of the candles she had set up on the top of the bureau, the flame flickering and dancing in the breeze. She didn't know if it would help or hurt, thinking on the coconut, Pan’s shadow drawn into the flame. She lit another.

“I think it's a great idea,” Mary Margaret said.

“What? Really?” Emma almost dropped the lighter to look at her mother in surprise.

“I'm mean, sure, why not?” Her mother shrugged. “It worked before. That's what these things are all about anyway, right? Belief.”

“Am I getting the hope speech now?” Emma said wryly, lighting the last of them.

“Sorry it took me so long,” her mother's voice was all apologies and remorse and Emma smiled at her.

“Maybe you were just waiting until I needed it.”

____

 

The red numbers of the bedside clock read midnight and Emma held her breath, watching in dismay as it clicked, the face reading 12:01.

He hadn't come.

She wasn't sure why midnight mattered, but it had, and he hadn't come. Didn't these kinds of things always happen by midnight? She wanted to cry all over again, to bury her head in the pillow and sob. She shivered instead under the extra blankets Mary Margaret had brought up, and pressed her face to the cool fabric of her pillowcase.

She had been so sure he would come.

She had brushed her hair until it was soft and shining, remembering the tangle of the strands in heavy rings, warm lips and jungle heat. Had dressed with care in her only nightgown, yellow flannel, blue flowers, as yoga pants and a tank top hadn’t felt quite right for the occasion. And he hadn't come.

Emma closed her eyes, the flame of the guttering candles, burned low, dancing across her eyelids. She wasn't giving up. Regina still had the possible locator spell, there were still more places she could check, could try the woods again. But it didn't mean it didn't hurt a little, a childish fantasy dashed. Emma sighed into her pillow and drifted off to sleep.

____

The window banged on the wall above her head with a crash, the sudden gust of wind taking the last remaining flame of the candles with it. Emma jumped, clutching at the blankets. She half expected her parents to come tearing up the stairs in concern, but the loft was still and silent below.

“Hook?” She whispered into the darkness after a moment.

There was the flicker of movement above her, the faintest hint of black, darker than the night filling the room, and Emma swallowed, squinting up to the slant of the roof, hope flaring in her chest. She could smell the sea. Leather and spice. She sat up.

“Hook?” She tried again, the light from the moon and the street lamps below too dim to see, but she could _feel_ him. Emma drew herself up to her knees, the blankets falling away discarded, the edges of her nightgown fluttering in the wind.

The darkness moved again, slipped along the ceiling, the smell of ocean drawing closer and Emma breathed deep, reaching out.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I knew you’d come.”

The darkness flared blue, two points of light like brilliant sapphire gems, and the figure floated closer. She could barely make out the shape of his hair, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his hook, but it was unmistakeably him. She sobbed out a laugh, reaching further forward, fingertips stretched out towards him.

It was like touching a thread of silk, thin gossamer strands of sensation against the tips of her fingers, the shadow’s own caressing her hand faintly. Emma could barely breathe, not wanting to frighten him, tears burning her eyes. It felt like him, distant and fleeting, but it _felt like him._

“I'm so glad you’re still here,” she whispered. And she was. All the other shadows she had encountered had been monstrous things, terrifying specters in the dark, but seeing this ghostly impression, the lines of him that were so familiar, filled her instead with something warm and anxious, joy blooming in her chest as he hovered before her. “I'm going to get you back, okay? I promise.”

The shadow moved closer, dipped its head, and slid slowly along her body, twining around her for a moment, between the curls of her hair, snaking along her waist, a sinuous blanket of mist and scent wrapping around her, enveloping her. Emma’s eyes fluttered closed, breathing him in, feeling him against her for the barest moment, the length of one heartbeat and then another, drawing across her skin.

“Don't go,” she whispered.

But when she opened her eyes the room was empty.

 


End file.
